Cowardice
by Mini-Chobi
Summary: In which Holmes is clueless to the rules of the courting world, and Watson is accused of cowardice. H/W


Holmes wasn't actually sick.

No, he had faked his ailment. He had felt that the good doctor had spent much too much time outside his company, and that Watson had been shying away from even being in his vicinity, even angry at him. It was Holmes's fault, to be sure, but Sherlock Holmes was new to the courting game; the poor detective really had no idea that creating a scenario to endanger your object of affections, and then plucking them out of the predicament at the last possible moment was more harrowing than romantic. He also failed to realize the fact that one did not reveal that it was a hoax at the conclusion of said endeavors.

"Holmes, you're not sick."

Sherlock Holmes heaved a sigh and swung his legs over the side of his bed. Blunder number two. Did he really think he could fool Watson, of all doctors? "No, Watson, I am not physically ill."

"If you're not ailing, then pray, tell why you are wasting my time?"

"While it is true that I have not taken ill of the body, a considerable weight has been burdening my mind - no, don't scoff, my good doctor! You can hardly expect me to be in good spirits while my dearest friend and companion is vehemently ignoring me. Now spill Watson! What is it about me that has repulsed you so?"

"I do not appreciate people playing dumb to me. You are the most observant man in all of England - perhaps the world, Holmes. Do you expect me to believe you when you say that you cannot figure out your best friend's motives? Stop wasting my time!"

Holmes sighed, frustrated, and stood up, drawing himself up to his full height and glaring down at the smaller man as he grabbed hold of Watson's shoulders. "No, Watson," he snapped. "You stop wasting mine."

Watson found himself quailing under Holmes's smoldering gaze. "Holmes..." he gulped, took a deep breathe, and composed himself. "I know not what you mean."

"You hypocrite," muttered Holmes, pushing Watson to the wall. He ignored the surprised cry, his hands sliding from Watson's shoulders to the doctor's waist, "accusing me of wasting _your_ time. What a remark, my dear Watson!"

Silence greeted Holmes's words. He was graced only with an angry stare.

Holmes stepped back slightly, his hands still resting possessively on Watson's waist. Watson's _nice, shapely, perfect wai-_ stop. "Enough with the games, doctor. I've known you a long time. I know your affections towards me - don't look so surprised! Despite having seen me in my worst of times, in the grip of what you consider my only vice, you've remained. Despite all your remarks on my egoistical behaviour, you egg me on with your lavish praise and utmost admiration. This, of course, I could mark off as a testimony to your devoted friendship.

"No, it was, really, evident on the very day that I met you. The ogling - yes, I noticed that, Watson; I tell you, really, do not look so surprised; not many people spend an entire five seconds staring - your handshake, and all the peeks you have sneaked at me since, all the furtive glances - did you expect me to not take note of it? And was it not you that had to excuse yourself whenever I so much as looked at another with interest? Was it not you that wrote in your daily journal-?"

"Holmes!" cried Watson. "I told you not to look at that! You were snooping!"

Holmes laughed, wrapping his arms around Watson's waist and pulling him backwards to the bed. "You had left it in the lavatory. I hardly consider it snooping when the book is lying wide open on the counter."

Watson sputtered, bristling with indignation, as Holmes sat down on the bed and pulled him down to a half-kneeling position. "Come Watson, don't be so cruel to yourself."

For a moment, Watson relented, his stiff posture relaxing, as Holmes gently brushed his lips against Watson's neck at a point he knew him to be sensitive. This action rewarded him with first a suprised gasp, then a stifled moan from the doctor as Holmes began to nip at the spot.

The sleuth smiled, pleased with his friend's reaction, and continued to lap at his neck while his own hands wandered to the collar of Watson's shirt, finding and undoing the first button. A groan escaped Watson's lips as Holmes methodically undid his shirt and began to kiss his bared collarbone. Holmes felt the grip on his shoulders, felt his companion's back arch towards him...

All of a sudden, Holmes found himself pushed flat onto his back, and Watson had stood up, was backing up. The doctor's skin was flushed, his eyes wide, and a sizable bulge had appeared in the front of his trousers. He cast one fearful look at Holmes before bolting from the room.

"Coward!" called Holmes as Watson's heel disappeared around the corner.

---

Watson froze at the word. His heart was beating crazily from lust, blood coursing through his body from rage. The front of his pants were strained, and his very being was throbbing. He drew a deep, shuddering breath, and whipped around again, storming through the door, startling the huffy Holmes.

"Coward?" he hissed, stalking up to the taller man. "You call me a coward?"

"Yes," retorted Holmes. "Your actions have been cowardly, indeed. You are afraid of allowing yourself to succumb to what it is that you want-."

"Oh, this, coming from the Great Glacier of Sherlock Holmes himself!" cried Watson, outraged, throwing his arms in the air, his fingers splayed. "You call me a coward, Holmes, yet you know not why I refuse you!"

Holmes was silent. His silver eyes were hardened, but a flicker of doubt appeared in their depths, and he looked expectantly at Watson. The doctor sighed in frustration, drawing deep breaths to calm himself. He spoke after regaining most of his composure. "Sometimes I wonder, Holmes, how you are not able to see through my fears and doubts, being who you are. Then I wonder if you understand, but don't show it, leading me on as you have done so many times all ready - don't interrupt, Holmes!

"You... you are correct. I have been... madly attracted to you since the day of our meeting. For a while, I wondered whether or not I should reveal my affections to you - although I was sure that you had guessed them already - as you did. I was shy to speak to you of such matters, Holmes, after I saw the way you had interacted with your clients. On the rare case that you were even minimally attracted to any of our clients - all incidences, despairingly, being with women - the affection vanished immediately after the case."

"My dear Watson, you are doing little else than illustrating my point - you were too afraid of rejection, and you shut your mouth to it."

Watson groaned and began to pace. "No! Don't you understand, Holmes? You had never loved the people you expressed interest in - you do not... do not fell _love_ as I feel love for you! Don't you see? They are little less than conquests to you; the moment you solve the mystery, you're through with them and you cast them to the side. You are as a child that is delighted with a new toy - one that it will throw away in a matter of days once it has lost its charm and the delight of the novel is no longer there.

"Don't you see? Pray tell me you see my predicament now, Holmes! How was I to trust the advances you had made? How am I to believe the sweet words you speak? How am I to know that I am little more than a challenge that you have set for yourself? You call my caution cowardice, Holmes, but I simply do not wish to earn myself heartbreak.

"How much would I love to throw you upon the bed and take you? Do you not think that I lust after you as much if not more than you do me? And yet, I abstain. Why? Because I don't want to ruin your practice. And most of all, I do not want to jeopardize the friendship that means the world to both you and I!"

For the second time in a day, Sherlock Holmes said nothing in response to his dearest friend. The silence hung thick in the air, Watson's monologue hanging in an ominous cloud above their heads. Watson stopped pacing, and he swung his head around to look into his friend's eyes. He wasn't sure what it was that he expected to see - shame, perhaps, confusion, or even bitterness. What he had not expected to see was unbridled anger flashing in the grey-silver eyes.

"What?" asked Watson shakily.

The livid look in Holmes's eyes neither left nor weakened, but when he spoke, he retained the calm tone that he so often used, as if his biting words were of little more significance than a passing remark concerning the weather.

"If you, Watson, honestly think that you are the only victim - the only one afraid of losing everything, of putting everything at stake - then you are more misguided than you may imagine."

Watson opened his mouth to reply, but after gaping for a moment, his jaws snapped shut, and he looked away, ashamed.

"Forgive me, Holmes," he muttered awkwardly. "I didn't realize that... I thought I was just a... a passing fancy."

"You are readily forgiven, my dear fellow," replied Holmes quickly. He reached out and took hold of Watson's elbow. "Although your mistake was quite understandable, you are most certainly not a passing fancy, as you put it. I..." he faltered for a moment, then pulled Watson towards the bed and plunged on. "To be honest, I was merely flattered by your attentions at first. But as it has been over a decade since 'at first', please rest assured that I am absolutely serious about this."

A smile crept onto Watson's face as he fell onto the mattress. "How serious?"

Holmes smiled puckishly before leaning over to whisper into the doctor's ear. "Seriously serious. Marry-me-serious."

Watson laughed, reaching up to liberate Holmes of his clothing. "Prove it, Holmes."

And so he did.

------------

*reads over*

Oh. My gosh. That was so jerky and out-of-character (I kept writing Holmes as Dr. House, I think) that I'm rather ashamed to post it.

But I think that if I try posting it any later, I won't be able to.


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